Hand-quilting in America

We are linked, my sisters.
Spools of simple thread bounce down the stairs of time.
I see the tiny stitches made from that same rocking motion.
We have callouses that withstand fire.

Next to Me

There is a wall next to me.

It grows. 

It crumbles. 

Tendrils of green find their way through the gaps, 

Hope's Breath blooms. 

Some days, I forget it's there. 

Breezes fly through this valley

as in days disappeared. 

The mighty oak's branches rub against the stone.

Some days, the wall is the last anchor I have to you.
I lean, back sore, neck twisted
For there is depth below
That cannot be ignored which I must suck from the soil.

Some days, this wall is everything I fear
And other times it hides all I cannot face. 

Irreconcilable

So, this what it feels like. 

Not every day,

But in the slick-sweat stickiness of this moment

Or that. 

You dare to peek in the keyhole 

Of Pandora's black box

And as with an accident causing disruption on the road

It is an effort to pull your eyes away

From the disaster inside. 

The mind plays with architecture:

Bridge the gap,

Building walls,

A door closing. 

I stand in the doorway

While my foundation shudders around me. 

I don't know where I should stand. 

And after this moment...

What then? Where do I build?

Swing

I don't always carry my load
in this community of humans.
I can't. My grip falters.
I fall over my laces. I lose a shoe.

Somehow it seems as though I could put one foot after another foot after another foot
But it's as though you asked me to ascend a wall of this house.
The air gets heavy.
I can't breathe.

Today, someone held my heart in their hands
Working and working,
And with the skill of an artist encased it crystalline webbing,
Making precious, the fibrous pulsing inside.

I performed near-miracles yesterday,
Flicking problems away like displaced ants,
But the universe craves balance, you see,
And the winner's platform is pulled away and I fall.

Chickens and Goats

Movement in the barnyard
Under that storm-green sky
Oblivious
To anything but the grass
Anything but the grain

Are we playing Hide and Go Seek?
Again, little muse?
I feel you in my sore wrist.
Are you sitting on my shoulder?
And there you are...

Sitting by fence post
Barbed wire, your canopy,
Twiddling your thumbs, some string
Or just words?
There. Your brown head bobs again.

No, it's just a goat among the chickens.

Amanda

Your blotchy skin is mine.
So is your small form curled against me for a lullaby.
"I wonder when..."

You have my heart of strong bricks.
My love for you as tender as the skin grafts on your forearm.
Inextricably intertwined, are we.

My willow girl,
Bending and thin, swishing with the wind
There is something right between us.

I am never more worthy
Your eyes know me, hold me, and I won you with a quarter.
Your sap feeds my heart.

You give and you give
You break down walls to breathe the fresh air
You are cloud-stepping, full-hearted

Sister to my soul
Sister of my body
Daughter of my heart

How Can I Get to Where You Are?

It was late.
 It was night.
I glided on a car made of skateboard wheels and twine.
 Street lights twinkle like faraway stars,
But the road below me shone black as an underground pool.
Passing lights overwhelmed my sight
and the black of the road left me blind.
 I reached out for the painted lines that curved and swayed the road.
I could only trust my fingertips to steady me on this sooty path.
Gravity pulled me toward my destination.

Home.

Home.

My descent grew steeper.
I called for you, fear pitching my voice higher.

Hear me.
Help me.
Stop me.

My eyes are plucked out.
The surface is too slick.
Night's maw is open.
I fall and she smacks her lips.